


The Dog Catches a Bird

by write_in_ice



Series: Daddy Sandor [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Childbirth, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:51:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_in_ice/pseuds/write_in_ice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor and Sansa are married but Sandor doesn't believe he deserves her, even as she is about to give him a child.</p><p>Fill from Kink Meme: The Hound can never understand how a woman like Lady Stark can love such a creature as himself. It is not until their first child is born that he gains some perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dog Catches a Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Quick mini-fill
> 
> Please Comment. You know you want to comment...and possibly tell me what to write next...

Sandor sat with his hands in his lap, starring at the fire-torched stone. The walls were cracked and blackened. New stone had been melded with old but the destruction of the past crept through. Silks and banners tried to cover the ruin but the old ugliness was hard to be rid off.

Harrenhal. Joffrey had given him Harrenhal.

Each time he thought about it a bitter taste crept into the back of his throat. He supposed it was what he deserved-a burnt ruin of a castle for a burnt ruin of a man-but that didn’t stop the anger from bubbling inside him. This may be the perfect fate for a miserable old dog, but it was no place for a pretty little dove.

He rubbed the back of his neck as her cries again reached his ears, even through the thick oak door. He hadn’t dared go in. What good would that do? She needed no reminder of the life that had been taken from her. No. Not while she struggled with women’s work. She had come to King’s Landing with dreams of being a queen. A naive girl, yes, but never deserving of the wrath Joffrey brought down on her. He’d tossed her aside like a forgotten toy when a better play thing came along. He could have given it away to the Tyrell boy or one of the southern lords, but no, that was never Joffrey’s way. Instead he smashed the little doll to pieces and left it as a chew-toy for his pet.  Sandor clenched his fist. Now they called her “The Hound’s Little Bitch”.  He could still see the grin of satisfaction on Joffrey’s face.

Another shriek of pain drifted into the hallway and Sandor stood, running his hand through his disheveled hair. His heavy boots echoed as he paced the floor. His eyes flashed with anger and worry and fear each time he heard the sweet girl struggle. Her cries were coming faster now, and staying longer. He imagined her clawing at the bed, blood trailing down her legs, her stunning face twisted in agony...because of him.

With a growl he drew his arm back and slammed his fist into the wall. His knuckles began to purple as he leaned against the cold stone. His breath came in gasps as he yearned for this ordeal to be done. She had said her words to him willingly enough, and only showed her fear when he gripped her hand for the first time. He’d felt the shiver run up her back as the tears welled in her eyes. That night she let him have her and only closed her eyes when the blood came. When he woke, he found her curled up against him, sweetly, almost lovingly. Her fingers rested against his thigh and her hair tickled his chest. Sandor enjoyed it for only a moment before sliding from the bed. She couldn’t wake like that. His little bird would be horrified.

He listened as her panting grew harder and looked to the sky as she groaned. It had been years since he prayed but he whispered simple words to the mother, hoping she could ease the girl’s pain. The gods had never answered him before and he bit his lip as silence took hold of the corridor.  It was fear that took hold of Sandor’s heart.

No, he thought. Please no.

He could feel wetness on his cheeks. Tears trickled down the crags of his face and his fingers gripped the stone. He swallowed, listening harder. The quiet was eerie. She had laboured for too long and too hard. This stillness chilled his blood. There was nothing and then...

The door opened and he could hear the faint cry of a child, his child. The midwife smiled.

“Come milord.”

Sandor nodded and slowly walked into the room.  She laid there, alive, pale and sweat soaked, and smiling, with a bundle in her arms. He took his place by her side, towering over her even as he sat, but still she took his hand.

“A girl.” She said. There was happiness in her voice even through the exhaustion. “Our little bird.”

He nodded, glancing at the child, but his eyes always trailed back to Sansa. She looked so lovely with the girl in her arms. She was happy, genuinely happy. Sandor swallowed again. At least he could give her this, if nothing else.

“I thought...” She whispered, “I thought we could name her after your sister.”

“My sister.” He repeated, so quietly Sansa turned her head to face him. She looked into his eyes.

“Is that alright?”

He nodded again, as words escaped him.

She squeezed his hand. “And she will be safe here. She will be so loved...No one will ever hurt her. Our little bird will never be afraid.”

“How do you know that, Sansa?” He touched the child’s cheek with his calloused hands, his voice catching in his throat.

“Because she has you.” Sansa wiped the tears away from his face and let her hand drift down his neck. “The way I always had you.”

She pressed her soft lips to his and as she kissed him a realization washed over him.

“I love you,” She said, and for the very first time he believed her.


End file.
